


A Shared History

by RenaRoo



Series: Fluff Prompts [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenaRoo/pseuds/RenaRoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim has a very personal idea of how he is going to honor his family, doing it through what they loved most. Of course, things get "complicated" as his new family becomes more and more involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shared History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lethargicProfessor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/gifts).



> Prompt: ( @lethargicprofessor ) Fluff Week Prompt! Brucie takes his (mostly grown) kids to the museum.
> 
> A/N:I’m just… in general doing a terrible job of keeping with the prompts exactly this time, so I apologize sincerely that my draft got out from under me!

It is meant to only be a pet project, something small and from his own heart. Something to give back to collective culture, to Gotham education, and, most of all, to his mother and father.

Mourning has never been his strong point, but Tim thinks that he is finally capable of progression and commemoration. That, perhaps, that's the best he can give (and not to think too much about what that says, whether or not that makes him good or bad as a son).

Like most things of this magnitude, however, it is meant to be _private,_ personal.

When Bruce hears tell of the arrangement, though, it becomes something different. It becomes something Tim's losing control of. Fast.

"You don't have to do this," Tim says as Bruce contacts the curator and pulls up their family accounts on the computer. And it's something Tim _means_ when he says it.

"Of course I do," Bruce says dismissively. "It's for you."

And there's _something_ catching in Tim's chest when he hears that. It's a little shocked, and a little sad. It's mostly painful. He wonders what it's supposed to mean, if Bruce means anything by it at all.

It's early in the morning and Tim requires coffee because he's thinking far too hard about this.

*

The arrangement, once the Wayne name is attached to it, becomes something far larger than Tim had ever anticipated. Yet his involvement feels… lessened somehow. It's making him feel far more conflicted than Tim thought he could ever feel about the collections his parents had procured over their adventurous lifetimes.

After some rather firm stipulations on Bruce's part, the museum loses their notion about advertising using the Wayne name for the gala and exhibit.

It's a wing dedicated to the memory of the Drake Family. It's going to be _Jack and Janet Drake_ who are the draw (even if they're not).

Tim never has to say as much, Bruce takes care of it. Preserving Tim's parents through sponsoring the thing they love.

He never says anything beyond a shy "thank you" when Bruce very much surprises him with his earnestness and commitment to this project. Instead Tim makes sure this is the most active and financially successful year that the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundations have ever had.

For what feels like the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Tim has a complete and total understanding with Bruce again. It doesn't need words.

"Are you sure you want to donate the _entire_ collection, Tim?" Bruce asks as Tim combs over the artifacts with their proper appraisers. He seems slightly concerned.

"I know it sounds strange," Tim admits before looking to Bruce in earnest, "but I know it's what they would have wanted. We kept these things not sentimentally, but because my parents were always looking for the proper place for them. Dad… he used to say that, 'great archeologists know to only take something away from where it belongs, if it can belong somewhere better.'"

From the way Bruce nods but doesn't emote much, Tim begins to think that just maybe he's not fully understood until, "You think you found that place, Tim?"

"Yes," Tim says without hesitation. "I've thought about this for a long time. I've held onto this stuff for a long time. It's time to let go."

They continue to work together in tandem. Tim realizes how much he has longed for this new status quo.

*

The exhibit's opening night and dedication of the wing are what Tim expected. Black tie event, lots of cameras and reporters _assigned_ to their post rather than passionate about it.

It's stuffy and old. Tim chats people up, pretending he hasn't been at the exhibit since noon and it is now almost _seven_ , but doesn't take long to withdraw more from the crowds.

Like old times, it's easy for Tim to lose himself in the museum fare by being genuinely interested in the exhibits and displays that Gotham's social elite must feign investment in. For as long as he can remember, he has been drug to these and has quietly moved from podium to podium, absorbing each date and continent displayed for context, each anecdote provided in precise, 3-paragraph explanations.

In some ways, it's very much like riding a bike for Tim, to fall into the casual silence and distant regard of those around him.

Until he is tapped on the shoulder.

Tim turns, his "Wayne smile" prepared smoothly before he's rather stunned to see Dick in a full tux and dazzling, but true, smile of his own. 'He's going to put out someone's eye he's so sharp,' Jack Drake's voice jokes in the back of Tim's mind.

"Dick? You're here?" he questions, openly shocked.

_"Tt."_

He then looks down to also regard a smaller tux'ed sibling standing just behind Dick, arms crossed and scowl set for the night. It makes Tim's frown slightly more accentuated. "You brought Damian?"

"Of course we came," Dick says, quickly pulling his arm around Tim's and tucking the shorter man into his side. "As soon as Bruce told us about what this big project of yours was, he didn't even need to ask for us to come!"

 _"I_ wasn't asked," Damian huffs.

Tim is still blinking rapidly, trying to comprehend the information as Dick shoots Damian a warning look.

"Li'l D, we talked about this," he says in a sing-song fashion. "And you _did_ want to ask Tim something, remember?"

At that, a dusting of pink becomes apparent across Damian's cheeks and nose. It would almost be adorable if Tim's mind wasn't in the process of a complete replay of the last few moments.

He looks seriously to Dick. "Bruce told you about this? It's…"

"For your parents," Dick replies with a sad look to his eyes despite his always comforting smile. He squeezes Tim's shoulders tighter. "We understand, Tim. And we know how important that is to you. it's why we're here." Dick's smile grows a bit wilder and he looks back to their youngest sibling. "Well, _almost_ all of the reason why we're here. Huh, Dami?"

Tim is feeling something warm in his chest besides the body heat from his eldest brother's unrequested embrace. It's what he'll credit his uncharacteristically jovial tone with Damian to when he asks, "What exactly were _you_ hoping to get out of all of this, Damian?"

Damian is still turned from them slightly when he looks over his shoulder and replies, a little lowly, "Grayson informed me that your parents had concentrated on West Asia in their pursuits for a time. I… might be mildly curious about some of the exhibits chronicling their time there."

For reasons beyond him, Tim finds this mild conversation to be one of the most moving moments he has had with his newest sibling just yet. He slides out of Dick's touch just lightly before putting his hands in his pants pockets and nodding toward one of the near halls. "Iran, specifically. Mom preferred their travels to the Amazon, but according to Dad she took one semester under a professor whose concentration was on the Persian Empire and she developed her first love affair with Cyrus the Great. Dad called him 'the only king that could take her from a Drake man.'"

Somewhat surprisingly, Damian follows pace. Dick is walking behind them with casual grace and a knowing smile.

*

It's almost two hours into the event when there's a stir and Tim just _knows_ that Bruce has at last made his entrance after departing not two minutes after Tim's opening speech about the contributions of his parents to Gotham's cultural enrichment.

There hadn't been a warning or explanation, and for once Tim is appreciative of Bruce handling _business_ without clueing Tim into the details.

This night is about Tim's other familial obligations finally receiving their dues, after all.

Hence Tim's genuine surprise when he finally looks away from the collection of Japanese Heian period weapons he and Damian are examining to see that the majority of the stir is caused less by playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne and more by the elusive and oft-not-seen Wayne daughter in a black dress that Bruce looks particularly displeased with.

"Agh, _Stephanie,"_ Dick sounds from behind them. "I said any of the pictures they sent me except that one."

"So it _is_ Brown responsible for dressing our sister like a tart," Damian huffs before getting a flick on the back of the head, hard. "Who dares--!?"

Tim and Dick both turn to see Jason, suit and tie, but hair mussed as ever and a line of scrapes under his right eye. He doesn't even acknowledge anyone's shock at his arrival and instead looks at Bruce and Cass dully.

"Watch your mouth, Bat Brat," Jason says. "I'll get the soap if I have to -- and your sister not only looks _awesome,_ but last I checked she's kicked everyone here's ass before for talking bad about her _lip gloss_ choices. So. Y'know."

"What --?" Tim's trying to string words together, still so loose and warm from the night thus far, but beginning to wonder if Jason's presence is an omen of something he should be more aware of.

Cassandra and Bruce are soon among their group and Cass, never the most aware of proper posture in formal attire, throws herself fully into a hug with Tim. It's almost bruising.

"Sorry about being… late," she says as she releases him enough that he can breathe. Her smile, while soft, can be seen in her eyes. "We," she explains with glances to Bruce and Jason, "took care of it, though."

Tim blinks. "It?"

"Would-be burglars," Jay comments with a shrug. "Everyone's favorite human detector over there saw them on our way here. We got the lot of them, though. And their leader. It was fun. I'll tell you about it over coffee sometime."

"There were going to be burglars?" Tim asks, alarmed now. He looks to the exhibits around them. "Are… Then the police will --"

"Batman will alert the Commissioner to their presence at ten fifteen," Bruce announces, looking idly to his watch. "That'll be more than enough time for some of the slower denizens of the Gotham Country Club to filter out. Until then, they can serve some time tied to the Gotham Museum of History's tallest steeple."

For a moment, Tim looks around at them all. It's beginning to sink in how much all of this means to him. And it's an almost physical touch to his heart.

Cassandra moves close enough to the case which Damian and Tim had been examining before her arrival and smiles, pointing at the smallest of the lined up swords. "That… it is small, but I cut _ten_ blocks with one."

"No way," Dick says as he comes to her side. "I mean, sure, sharp. But ten?"

"I was… six, too."

"It's an _o tanto,_ Philistines," Jason sighs dramatically and taps on the glass with a knuckle. "You want to know about this Japanese exhibit? I can tell you everything you want to know about this Japanese exhibit. I've broken _into_ this exhibit."

Damian scowls, nearing the others as well. "Proving your delinquency, Todd?"

"Ha! Delinquency. Shows what you know -- I did this when I was _Robin."_

Tim listens to Jason's story -- with complete historical context for every item mentioned -- along with the others before looking to Bruce who seems to be regarding each of them carefully. He has a twinkle in his eye that Tim hasn't seen in a long time.

It's also when Tim realizes that he is sharing that smile.

*

Looking for Bruce after the man wanders off from their group reminds Tim of just how hard it used to be to track his heroes in the night.

Entering the newest wing of the museum gives Tim pause, his eyes settling on the gold plaque over the doorway reading "Drake Hall -- Dedicated to Janet and Jack."

It's… a sad feeling and a good feeling at the same time, and Tim allows it to wash over him before passing through the hall.

Unsurprisingly enough, he finds Dick and Bruce together, standing at a collection of Chinese artworks on "fu."

The two did not let the irony of the symbol for happiness and luck pass them by.

"Hey, Tim, did you know about this?" Dick asks as Tim approaches. He's reading the information typed out on the podium. "'This artwork depicts the five bats commonly used to symbolize the five blessings of health, long life, prosperity, love of virtue, and a natural death. The use of red is also symbolic in Chinese culture as the color of joy.'"

Tim laughs softly to himself and Bruce smiles coyly as Dick finally looks at the bottom of the board.

"What? _No way!_ Tim!" Dick rounds on him, grin large and bright as ever. "You wrote this? That's hilarious. Five bats."

"I already called 'health,'" Tim says with a  smirk. "I figure I need it in the future with the spleen thing."

"Pfft," Dick says with a roll of his eyes. "Not funny. But I'll berate you for that later," he promises before reaching over to ruffle his brother's hair.

It's okay, it was falling out of place anyway.

"I'm going to make sure Damian doesn't try to repeat Robins of the past and make off with some ninja armor or something," Dick laughs. "You two don't strain yourself with those dorky smiles. I know they're difficult for you to maintain."

"Thank you for your concerns, Dick," Bruce says dryly as the eldest retreats.

Tim rubs his shoulder and takes a breath. He feels very good tonight, and looking at Bruce makes him hope he hasn't lost his nerve.

"I… know I wasn't the most open to letting you in on the project at first, Bruce," he admits, watching Bruce carefully for shows. "I… knew that this had to be for my parents. No… I _wanted_ it to be for them and… I was worried about letting everyone in on it," he says rather lackluster.

"It's understandable, Tim. I've felt the same way before about preserving memories," Bruce says in what Tim isn't sure can or can't be considered the greatest understatement ever mustered.

"Yeah," Tim agrees simply before looking seriously to Bruce. "But, I _need_ you to know, Bruce… I… Having all of you here and, just, everyone's support of this? It's… made one of the best nights of my life. You brought everyone here to the museum and… I realized that I've tried way too hard to keep my family with my parents and my family with you all separated in my mind. But we're… we're really just _my family._ And that's… that's made me realize how glad I am that you all came into my life one way or another."

Bruce looks rather stunned, off guard like Batman never should be.

"I… thank you for that," Tim finishes, his face feeling hotter by the second before, without further hesitation (or it would never happen, and Tim _knows_ it), he hugs Bruce tightly, pressing his face into the man's suit jacket.

It's only a little bit surprising that Tim feels arms circle him back and squeeze with great tenderness.

"We love you, Tim," Bruce says gently. "And we're just _very_ glad to be able to show you in a way that means so much."

And Tim knows, with swelling pride in his chest, how true that statement is.


End file.
